


Still, still to hear his tendertaken breath

by BeatnikFreak



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Enjolras is a cuddler, Enjolras works too hard, Fluff, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles, fluffy nonsense, from a tumblr prompt, grantaire makes him take a break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:05:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeatnikFreak/pseuds/BeatnikFreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Noone ever believes Grantaire when he says that Enjolras is a cuddler. He doesn't mind, though, when he gets to experience it firsthand. </p><p>(Fluffy nonsense written on tumblr and now posted here.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still, still to hear his tendertaken breath

**Author's Note:**

> grantaires on tumblr wanted happy enjoltaire so I wrote it. The tumblr app then ate it. 
> 
> Possessed by fury, I then spent most of an hour reconstructing it. GAH. 
> 
> This is, essentially, absolute fluffy nonsense that begins in a post modern rant. 
> 
> Title from Bright Star by Keats.

 

“… ridiculous criticism. Postmodernism is a vital methodology when we’re considering the discourse of nationhood-“

“’Jolras.” Grantaire’s soft voice makes him look up. “Put the book down for a bit, yeah?” His face is open, a faint smile on his lips which belies the concern in his blue eyes as he leans up on one elbow.

Enjolras bites his lip. “My thesis defence is tomorrow, R.”

“And you’re going to boss it. Take a break, yeah?” His eyes are pleading. “You’ve got bags under your eyes like nobody’s business.”

Oh, it’s tempting. It’s so tempting to lie down next to Grantaire, to forget about this bloody thesis for a moment or two. But he can’t forget, not when it’s forty percent of his grade we’re talking about. “I need to practice.”

“You’ve been practicing all week.” A small smile quirks the side of his mouth. “Hell, at this stage, I think I know that thesis as well as you do. Just come on, a break will do you good.” Grantaire reaches out for the heavily annotated paperback, and to his surprise, Enjolras lets it go without protest.

He places it on his bedside table, well out of the reach of even his six foot tall boyfriend, then sits up. He doesn’t like seeing Enjolras this wound up, this sleep-deprived.

Enjolras lets Grantaire wind his arms around him, pulling his back into his chest, shifting back into the warm embrace. He presses a gentle kiss to the nape of his neck, an affirmation of something they both know. They stay like that for a long moment, breathing in sync, Enjolras shutting his eyes as Grantaire presses soft kisses to his neck.

"I really should be working," mumbles the blond. 

"Au contraire, mon Enj," replies Grantaire, and Enjolras snorts at the pun, eyes still shut. Grantaire's embrace is a cage he would happily remain in forever, his arms tight around him, warm chest pressing like a reminder against his back.

"You'll be brilliant," Grantaire whispers in his ear. "Don't stress so much, you know you don't need to." 

Enjolras leans his head back to rest on his artist’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I just… I just really want it to go well.”

“And it will do,” replies Grantaire, pressing his lips to the blond’s worn tee shirt-clad shoulder. “It will do.”

“You don’t know that,” Enjolras protests, but lets Grantaire pull him back, lets himself fall back to lie on the bed, head against the pillows. God, he’s so tired, and the prospect of a break, a break from argument and thesis and bloody Foucault, a break with Grantaire, is so appealing.

Grantaire smiles, shifting to lie beside his boyfriend, his long streak of argument and principle. “Oh, but I do." Grantaire presses a kiss to Enjolras’ forehead, noting how the blond’s eyes are already shut. “After all, this is you we’re talking about.”

Enjolras makes a disparaging sound that is entirely undermined by the tiredness creeping through it, and Grantaire’s smile widens.

Gently, he lifts his boyfriend’s reading glasses from his perfect face, then lays them carefully on the discarded book. For a moment, he sits at Enjolras’ side, looking down at him sprawled against the white sheets, hair a blond halo against the pillow. It is beautiful to see his active, dynamic Apollo suddenly still, peaceful in a way he never is when awake.

“Well, come on then,” mumbles Enjolras. “If you’re going to coerce me to take a break, you’d better come and share it with me instead of bloody staring at me.”

Grantaire grins. He’ll paint this another time, rendering Enjolras’ sleep loosened body on canvas when he has the time for it.

Now, however, he slides into bed properly, appreciating Enjolras’ little noise of contentment as he shifts onto his side and snuggles into Grantaire, flinging an arm across him.

Noone will ever believe Grantaire when he says that Enjolras is a cuddler. But he doesn’t mind, not when he gets to experience it firsthand. He smiles, tangling his legs with Enjolras’, wrapping an arm around him and pressing a kiss to the bridge of his nose.

Enjolras hums happily, burrowing his cheek into the hollow of Grantaire’s collarbone. Almost asleep, he mumbles, “Love you.” His lips clumsily press against his neck.

Grantaire will never get sick of that. “Love you too,” he replies, smiling.

Enjolras smiles, drifting into a contented sleep in his cynic’s painstreaked arms. Grantaire stays awake a little longer, simply appreciating the weight and press of his boyfriend’s long limbs against his own, before settling in to sleep, lulled by Enjolras’ deep breaths.

Perfect.


End file.
